


so we can go together

by magnificentbirb



Series: we keep going on [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Also Implied SeongJoong TBH, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Gen, Implied WooSan, Kim Hongjoong Danny Oceans His Way Around the Galaxy, No Ships Yet But Who Knows What Might Happen, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: In which Captain Kim Hongjoong collects his crew and First Mate Park Seonghwa deserves a raise.





	1. Seonghwa

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write space pirates.
> 
> because Hongjoong said [this](https://i.imgur.com/ueaQM9t.png) and then [this](https://i.imgur.com/ZidsnWy.jpg) in an episode of the Record, and clearly that meant that i had to write him Danny Ocean-ing his way across the galaxy collecting his loyal crew of disaster space pirates.
> 
> so this will be a multi-chapter story of just that. i'll add characters to the tags as they appear, and i'll tag ships if _they_ decide to appear, as well...
> 
> title from "Say My Name," beta'd by my lovely best friend bc she is very good to me.
> 
> enjoy~!

There’s a chrome tracking cuff around Hongjoong’s ankle, blinking periodically, and iron handcuffs around his wrists, digging into his skin. He always thought it was weird that Union prisons felt the need to mix new and ancient technology like this—a tracking device, in case he bolts, and heavy iron cuffs to make it difficult for him to do so. Not that he’d be able to, currently; not after just waking up from a cryo sleep that lasted lord-even-knows how long. Hopefully not longer than a few years. Hongjoong would hate to find himself much younger now, it would be so weird for him to suddenly be younger than— 

The guard at Hongjoong’s side tugs roughly at his arm, thick fingers locked around his bicep, jerking him forward. 

“Move, kid,” the guard grumbles. “We’re gonna be late.”

Hongjoong scowls at him, but shuffles along a bit quicker, despite his stiff muscles; he’s eager to get moving, too.

There’s someone he needs to see.

The prison ship is eerily quiet, most of the inmates deep in cryo. Hongjoong wonders vaguely where they’re all being taken. He’s been to a few different prison planets in his life, but he didn’t manage to get the destination of this ship before they shoved him unceremoniously into a small cryo cell and forced him into a frozen sleep.

“You’re quiet,” the guard says, still dragging Hongjoong along. “Expecting good news?”

Hongjoong says nothing, staring straight ahead. He thinks about nothing but the office looming far ahead of them and the iron cuffs weighing down his wrists, clanking too loudly in the early morning air.

The guard huffs in annoyance when he gets no response, and they make the rest of the trek to the warden’s office in silence.

The door to the warden’s office is partly open when they arrive. Hongjoong can smell coffee from within— _real_ coffee, not that instant shit that a guard shoved into his hands a few minutes after waking him—and he takes a moment to breathe it in, anticipation lacing through his veins.

The guard steps forward and raps loudly against the doorframe, calling out, “I have a Kim Hongjoong for you, sir.”

“Bring him in,” comes a rough voice. 

The door slides open, revealing the warden’s office, sleek and sterile and strangely void of clutter since the last time Hongjoong saw it. The warden is seated behind his desk, moustache quivering, gray hair slightly mussed, looking like he was just rudely shaken awake and dragged out of bed. It’s a satisfying sight.

And there, getting to his feet just as Hongjoong is shoved through the doorway, is Seonghwa.

He looks radiant. His dark hair is coiffed, his eyes are tinted a light grey, and he’s decked out in an immaculate black suit, high collared and intimidating. 

Hongjoong has never been happier to see him in his entire life.

“He looks thin,” Seonghwa says, eyes flashing. He turns his head to glare at the warden. “You told me he was being well taken care of.”

“He just woke from cryo,” the warden grumbles, flapping an impatient hand towards Hongjoong. “They all look like that post-cryo. He’s fine.”

Seonghwa scowls, but turns back to Hongjoong. “Are you all right, Mr. Kim?” he asks, all deep-voiced sincerity and polite, distant concern—the kind of concern any lawyer would show to his well paying client.

“I’m a little groggy,” Hongjoong says, milking it a bit, “but I think I’ll be fine once I sit down.”

Seonghwa steps forward to take Hongjoong gently by the elbow, guiding him to one of the chairs placed before the warden’s desk. All the while he glowers at the warden, menacing enough that the warden fidgets slightly beneath his gaze.

“Advocate Park, this is most untoward,” the warden said once they were all seated again. “I’m still not convinced—”

“This should be enough evidence that my client was set up.” Seonghwa slides a tablet across the desk, lit with a document Hongjoong can’t make out from his current angle. He cranes his neck to try to see the text, but the warden draws the tablet nearer, squinting at it through the glasses perched on his nose.

Frowning slightly, Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa, hoping to meet his eye, but Seonghwa is not looking at him, instead focused on the warden, watching his every reaction to the document. Hongjoong hazards a look over his shoulder; the guard who escorted him is looking at his own handheld, paying no attention to the warden nor his prisoner. Hongjoong risks a quick reach over to place a hand on Seonghwa’s knee. Seonghwa barely reacts other than to place his own hand over Hongjoong’s, squeezing lightly, and that’s all Hongjoong needs.

He pulls his hand away and knows, as soon as the warden looks up from the tablet, eyebrows raised in shock, looking between Seonghwa and Hongjoong like a guilty child, that everything will be all right.

Hongjoong will be leaving this prison ship with his best friend and not a single manacle in sight.

*

_Terran summers were always too hot._

_Hongjoong sprawled spread-eagle on the dusty ground behind his parents’ homestead, staring up at the red-tinted sky. He could feel his skin getting that crisp, too-tight feeling of sun exposure, but he was too lazy to go back inside, and besides, his older brother was still there, so there was probably still too much shouting for his liking, and he’d rather burn alive unprotected in the sun than get caught up again in one of his step-father’s screaming matches._

_Hongjoong closed his eyes. The cicadas were late this year, as they had been every year before, but they were singing now, a dull whine signaling that winter was almost on its way. Hongjoong wondered whether the temperature would even dip below seventy degrees this year._

_A shadow fell across Hongjoong’s face, and he frowned, opening his eyes to squint up at the obstruction._

_“You’re turning red,” said Seonghwa, and then he dropped a suncloak on Hongjoong’s face._

_“Maybe I want to turn red.” Hongjoong tugged the suncloak off his face and let it pool on his chest, light and silvery, shining like metallic silk._

_“If you get sunstroke, I’m taking you back to your parents’ place.” Seonghwa settled on the ground beside him, responsibly clad in his own suncloak, hood pulled low over his face. Perspiration gleamed at his temples despite the cooling effects of the cloak._

_“You’re the worst,” Hongjoong said, but he sat up and dragged the suncloak over his shoulders, huffing as he tugged the hood over his hair. It was getting long again; he’d have to re-dye it back to the bright red he’d been sporting lately before his roots really started to show._

_“Your brother’s home?” Seonghwa asked quietly._

_Hongjoong hugged his knees to his chest. “He’s on furlough for a while, yeah. Just got back from some mission to Helix. I don’t think it went well.”_

_Seonghwa picked at a scraggly weed that managed to peek through the dusty soil, not looking at Hongjoong. He’d known Hongjoong’s family for long enough now that he understood the implications behind Hongjoong’s detached answer, for which Hongjoong was grateful, while at the same time being a bit embarrassed._

_“My mom is cooking beef tonight, if you’d like to come over,” Seonghwa said eventually. “I know she’d be happy to see you.”_

_Hongjoong smiled. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”_

_They sat in silence for a while, two fourteen year-old boys on a dying world beneath a dying sun, listening to the cicadas hum their dismal song._

_“I wanna be the captain of a starship,” Hongjoong said after a while, staring at the sky again. He felt Seonghwa’s gaze on him, those dark eyes intent and patient. “I want the freedom to go wherever we want, whenever we want. I want my own crew and my own ship and—”_

_Hongjoong cut himself off; he’d almost given away his biggest secret part of the wish, the selfish part, the part he didn’t know whether he could share with Seonghwa just yet:_ I want my own crew and my own ship and _you._

_“—and, you know,” Hongjoong stuttered, face flushing. “All that.”_

_Seonghwa was still watching him, and then he turned his own gaze to the sky; Hongjoong breathed a sigh of relief._

_“I’ll help you.” Seonghwa’s voice was soft and matter-of-fact, and Hongjoong’s heart swelled._

_“You will?”_

_“Of course.” Seonghwa turned to him with a smile. “I’ll be your first mate, captain.”_

_No words could convey the emotion settling warm and light in Hongjoong’s chest, so instead he reached out and took Seonghwa’s hand and squeezed it tightly, hoping Seonghwa would understand._

_Seonghwa squeezed back just as tightly._

_They watched the sunset in silence._

*

“Please don’t make me do that again,” Seonghwa says, slinging his suit jacket over the back of the copilot’s chair in their rented shuttle and slumping into the seat. “Forging all of those documents was one of the most tedious things I’ve ever done.”

Hongjoong leans over the back of Seonghwa’s seat and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pressing a loud, smacking kiss into Seonghwa’s dark hair.

“Yes, yes, you’re the best first mate ever,” he says, petting a hand over Seonghwa’s hair. “I’m very grateful that you’re so willing to break the law to get me out of prison.”

Seonghwa fixes him with a glare, but there’s no heat in it, and Hongjoong knows he’s been forgiven.

“So…” Hongjoong trails off, sinking into the pilot seat. “Where is everybody? It’s only been a few months, right?”

Seonghwa’s side-eye could probably strip the paint off the side of a shuttle. Hongjoong flashes him his most charming smile, and Seonghwa sighs, pressing his lips together and turning his gaze to the stars outside.

“Yunho’s got his own shipping contract for the GU,” Seonghwa says.

“Well that’s… weird.” Hongjoong blinks. “He’s working for the Galactic Union? Like, above board?” Seonghwa gives a shrug, and Hongjoong says, “Huh. Good for him, I guess.”

“Mingi sent me a message a few weeks ago, he’s apparently working at the fighting pits on Elgor.”

“Elgor?” Hongjoong says, and then, after a pause, “ _Our_ Mingi? Fighting?”

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous,” Seonghwa says, waving a hand. “He’s been hired to improve their betting tech or something. No fighting, just algorithms and hardware and other things he’s good at.”

“Well, that makes more sense. I’m sure we can give him a better offer, though, so we should swing by when we get a chance.” Hongjoong leans back in his chair, mindlessly picking at the cuticle on his right thumb. “Who else have you been in contact with?”

Seonghwa absently reaches over to place a hand over Hongjoong’s hand, putting a stop to his fiddling. “I met one half of a pair of promising thieves a while back who have been looking for steadier work. I said I’d reach out if anything comes up.” He glances at Hongjoong, a single elegant brow raised. “So. Is anything going to come up?”

Hongjoong grins at him and links his hands behind his head, kicking his feet up onto the instrumentation panel.

“I guess we’ll just have to see.”


	2. Yunho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is from Seonghwa's POV because change is fun.
> 
> once again beta'd by my bestie, whose wit and wisdom i do not deserve. <3
> 
> enjoy~!

The first thing Yunho says to them when they step into his hangar is, “No.”

Hongjoong glances sidelong at Seonghwa, and Seonghwa gives him a small shake of his head. It’s probably best for Seonghwa to take the lead on this particular reunion, at least for now.

“Is that the kind of greeting we get after all these years?” Seonghwa says with a charming grin.

Yunho fixes them with a deadpan look. “After I spent thirty-eight hours last year getting interrogated by GU officials asking how the criminal they just caught on Titan got hold of a Falcon X-42 battle cruiser?” He turns back to the tablet in his hand. “Yes.”

Seonghwa shoots Hongjoong a Look, and Hongjoong raises his eyebrows back at him, all innocence.

“I managed to convince them that you stole it from me,” Yunho continues, leaning over a nearby console, the screen of which glows with what looks like an incredibly complicated spreadsheet. “Considering all the other shit you’d stolen before you got arrested, I didn’t have much trouble. They still impounded her, though.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t _entirely_ my fault,” Hongjoong said. “I was set up and you know it.”

“Even so.” Yunho types something into the console, eyes fixed on the screen. “Whatever you’re here for, the answer is no. I’ve gone legit.” More typing, but it sounds a bit heavier than Seonghwa would expect, as though Yunho is taking something out on the keyboard that he’s not letting bleed into his voice. “I don’t want any more trouble. Okay?”

“But—”

Seonghwa grabs Hongjoong’s arm before he can finish his sentence. “Fair enough,” Seonghwa says, already starting to back away, dragging Hongjoong along with him. “We just figured we’d come say hello, since we’ll be on the station for a few nights. We should get a drink sometime, for old time’s sake, yeah?”

Yunho pauses his typing, brows furrowed. “... Yeah. Sure, we can do that.”

“Is your number the same?” Seonghwa is practically shoving Hongjoong out the door now, still watching Yunho over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Yunho glances at them, and Seonghwa can see the hesitation in the tension in his jaw, the crease between his brows. “I’m free tonight, actually.”

“Perfect, I’ll contact you! See you later, Yunho-ya!” Seonghwa waves on their way out, and then the heavy hangar door thuds shut behind them, leaving Yunho alone to his worries.

“What the hell was that?” Hongjoong says, flicking his sunglasses back down over his eyes in an attempt to block out the bright glare from the star around which Yunho’s Union station orbits. “We need a ship, and we need Yunho to pilot it.”

“I know.” Seonghwa presses a finger to his temple, switching his lenses from light gray to shaded. The avenue-wide halls in this station have floor-to-ceiling windows along the hangars, seemingly to save on lighting. Even so, Seonghwa wishes they’d be more liberal with the blackout windows; at certain angles, the halls are rather blinding.

Hongjoong stares at him, eyebrows raised. His hair has grown out since he was released from prison, long enough to be pulled into a small, high bun. He looks more like himself now, which Seonghwa finds rather comforting.

“So?” Hongjoong hooks his thumbs into his pockets as they head down the wide hall, just two Terran males out and about on GU business. “What’s your plan, then?”

“He’s bored.” Seonghwa nods to a couple of uniformed Jadecoat officers, flashing them a nonchalant smile. One of the officers watches them go past, but Seonghwa chooses to believe it’s because of his handsome face and the way he’s slicked his hair back, and not because the officers know that they’re ex-criminals. “He’s getting stir-crazy here, I can tell. I’ll take him out tonight while you get our rental shuttle figured out, and by the end of the evening, I bet he’ll want to leave with us.”

Hongjoong side-eyes him. “You sure?”

Seonghwa’s handheld buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out; a message from a familiar contact glows on the screen. Seonghwa grins. 

“Positive.”

*

Yunho orders one of the largest, most obnoxiously iridescent cocktails Seonghwa has ever seen, and then downs a third of it in one go.

“Things are going well, then?” Seonghwa asks, chin resting on the palm of one hand.

“Oh, things are great.” Yunho’s drink hits the bar a bit harder than expected, and Seonghwa winces slightly, half-expecting the glass to crack. “I have a regular paycheck and health insurance and minions who do my bidding, and you know what I never do anymore?”

“Hm?”

“I never run from the cops.” Yunho takes another great swig of his drink, and Seonghwa starts to get a bit concerned that he might need to physically haul Yunho’s lanky body out of the bar in an hour or so. “It’s great. I’m so relaxed. I get a freaking _pension_ , hyung.”

“That sounds great, Yunho-ya.” 

“It is. It’s super.” Yunho taps his right index finger against his glass. Condensation rolls down the glass, pooling on the bar beneath his hand. “So how’s Hongjoong, post-prison? He didn’t want to come out for a drink with an old friend?”

“He has some other business to attend to while we’re station-bound,” Seonghwa says, watching Yunho carefully. “The shuttle we rented already needs some repairs, and we might need a loan to get them done.”

Yunho frowns into his drink. “I could repair it for you,” he mutters.

“It’s fine.” Seonghwa pats Yunho’s arm gently. “We’ll get the repairs done and go on our way. We don’t want to inconvenience you while you’re so content here.”

Yunho grunts, lifting his drink to his lips again. “Content. Yep.”

Seonghwa turns away to his own drink, a dark Terran whisky, and hides his smile in his glass.

“So what are your plans?” Yunho asks. “All ready to do something illegal, now that Hongjoong is fresh out of jail?”

“I’m not sure.” Seonghwa swirls his drink, staring into the mirror over the bar. The dance floor behind him is a mess of flashing lights and moving limbs, some Terran, most decidedly not. “We’re just gathering a crew, right now. I’m not sure whether Hongjoong has anything specific planned. I think right now he’s just antsy—he wants to get out in open space, you know?”

“And you need a pilot.” It’s not a question.

Seonghwa glances at Yunho, then looks to his drink again, smiling slightly. “We need a pilot.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, letting the constant thump of alien bass wash over them. Yunho takes another long drink, and Seonghwa turns towards him once more, resting his head on one hand.

“Can I ask you something, Yunho-ya?”

“Hm?”

“Are you bored?”

Yunho stares straight ahead into the flickering neon lights, his face lit with purple and blue streaks. He lifts his drink, and then pauses just before taking a sip, setting it down again with a sigh. 

“I am,” he says quietly, and then his head is on the bar and his hands are in his hair and he’s groaning, “Oh my god, I’m _so bored_. This job is so stable and normal and _nothing happens ever_ , I’m losing my mind.”

Seonghwa reaches over to clap a bracing hand on Yunho’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“Don’t even start,” Yunho mutters, mostly into his hands. “I know what you’re offering, and I said I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Seonghwa finishes his drink and pats Yunho on the shoulder again. “I’m not going to get into it again, but our shuttle repairs will be done in a couple of days. We’ll be heading out from the B-level port that afternoon. If you’d like to come with us, there’s space available for you. If not, then we’ll see you around sometime. Sound good?”

Yunho nods weakly, head still in his hands.

“Good.” Seonghwa motions for the bartender to get them another round. “Now let’s make this night a bit less stable than you’re used to, hm?”

*

Hongjoong is fidgeting, eyes flicking from their shuttle ( _ready to go_ ), to the hangar doors ( _firmly closed_ ), to Seonghwa ( _doing his best to look unconcerned_ ), and back again.

“He’s not coming,” Hongjoong says for the third time in the last thirty minutes, and Seonghwa fights not to sigh, briefly closing his eyes.

“He’ll be here,” Seonghwa says, scrolling through some last minute checks of their rented shuttle, newly repaired but still woefully out of date. It will get them out of the system, but possibly not further than that, and Seonghwa isn’t looking forward to either a second round of expensive fixes or haggling for another decent rental. 

Hongjoong lets out a frustrated gust of breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to check the fuel lines again,” he says, heading for their shuttle, but just as his feet touch the ramp leading into the shuttle, the hangar door opens, and Yunho bursts in, red-cheeked and wild-haired.

“Don’t you dare step foot into that piece of junk,” he shouts, and Seonghwa smiles, locking his tablet; he has a feeling he won’t need to review any more checks for this particular shuttle.

“Yunho!” Hongjoong beams at him, arms spread wide. “Are you coming with us?”

“Don’t look so pleased about it,” Yunho grumbles, but he can’t fully hide his own smile as he slings his bag further up on his shoulder. “I was basically bullied over drinks.”

“Lies and slander,” Seonghwa says. “Do you have a ship ready?”

“I do, and she’s beautiful, and you’re not allowed to get her impounded this time, agreed?” Yunho says with a pointed look at Hongjoong.

“I would never,” Hongjoong says, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Right,” says Yunho, clearly not convinced. “Well, she’s a few levels up, closer to my hangar than here. You guys ready to go? I have clearance already, and I’d like to get off this station before my boss regains his senses and rescinds my leave of absence.”

“This ship of yours,” Seonghwa says as the three of them gather their things and head up to Yunho’s hangar. “Is she a carrier?”

“Top of the line,” Yunho says over his shoulder, a definite skip in his step compared to the last time Seonghwa saw him. “A Hyperion X-8. She’s lovely, really. She’ll be perfect for us.”

 _Us_ , Seonghwa notes with satisfaction, wondering vaguely how long Yunho’s requested leave of absence is.

“Does this ship have a name?” Hongjoong asks.

“She wasn’t given one, but...” Yunho grins at them over his shoulder, eyes shining. “I’ve been calling her _Treasure_.”

They enter the main departure hangar, and Yunho makes a beeline for a beautiful black and silver ship, all sleek lines and graceful angles. The ship is clearly designed to be a carrier, able to hold at least a dozen passengers comfortably for extended deep space journeys. Picked out in golden letters above her serial number is her name, clearly a new addition to the ship’s gleaming hull. 

Yunho beams at the ship, and then at them.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he says, and Seonghwa hasn’t seen his eyes sparkle this much since the time they managed to hijack a Jadecoat speeder on Phobos.

“She’s perfect.” Hongjoong slings an arm around Yunho’s shoulders and tugs him into a tight half-hug. “You did good, pilot. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Shall we, then?” Seonghwa says, grinning at the two of them as he walks past them to the ship. He hears a quiet scuffle behind him as Yunho fights to free himself from Hongjoong’s grip, followed by the familiar and long-missed sound of Yunho’s laughter, and it’s with that sound fresh in his ear that he first enters their new ship. Her halls are clean and bright, and Hongjoong and Yunho are bickering somewhere behind him, and Seonghwa closes his eyes in contentment and thinks of a single word:

_Home._


	3. Wooyoung + San

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to Hongjoong's POV for now! and thanks once again to my bestie beta, who also helped me out with the next chapter today. <3
> 
> enjoy~

“How’d you lose them?” Hongjoong asks as they sprint down the halls of the casino station, ignoring the alarms blaring around them.

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa snaps, scowling. “I lost track of San in the crowd a few minutes ago, and then when the alarms started going off, Wooyoung just bolted.” He jerks his chin to the left as they reach a fork in the halls. “That way.”

They take the left, barrel through a set of swinging doors, and find themselves in a darker, narrower hallway, clearly meant for staff instead of guests. Hongjoong catches a glimpse of another person running ahead of them, illuminated briefly by the flash of the alarm lights.

“YA!” he yells, and the person ahead of them startles, whipping around to look at them. It’s a young man in a waitstaff uniform, hair dyed a light silvery gray: Wooyoung, one half of the team of thieves Hongjoong and Seonghwa tracked to this ritzy casino.

“Wooyoung-ah!” Seonghwa calls. “Wait!”

Wooyoung pauses at the end of the hall, clearly still wary. “... Seonghwa-hyung?”

Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa, eyebrow raised. “‘Hyung’?”

Seonghwa shrugs and hurries down the hall, and Hongjoong follows, wondering what the heck he missed while he was in prison. “Where’s your partner?” Seonghwa asks once they reach Wooyoung.

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks anxious, shooting a nervous glances at Hongjoong. “Some guards were chasing him right before the alarm went off. I think they found him out.”

“We’ll help you find him,” Seonghwa says. 

“Thanks, I—” Wooyoung pauses, eyes going wide as he catches sight of something over Seonghwa’s shoulder. Hongjoong turns to see three guards at the end of the hall they just came from, each one armed and masked.

“Hey!” One of the guards spots them and draws his weapon, a stun baton that hums through the air as he starts stalking down the hallway.

“Shit,” Wooyoung mutters, taking a step back, but Seonghwa already has his taser gun out and aimed.

“Get ready to run,” he mutters, and then the gun goes off, and the first guard topples to the ground, muscles jerking as electricity courses through his body. The other two guards shout in alarm, and then one of them pulls out a gun of his own, swinging around to aim at the three of them.

“Move,” Hongjoong says, grabbing Wooyoung and shoving him around the corner and down an adjacent hallway. He hears the dull _bzzt_ of Seonghwa’s gun once more, and then the sound of another guard crumpling to the ground. A louder shot goes off— _Is the guard using a bullet gun? In this day and age?_ —and Hongjoong automatically presses a hand to Wooyoung’s head, forcing him down and out of the range of fire. He then turns and grabs Seonghwa’s arm, jerking him back just as another bullet buries itself into the wall beside them.

“Go,” Hongjoong bites out, shoving both Wooyoung and Seonghwa forward down the next hall, and then he whirls, reaches for his own taser gun, and fires a shot at the one remaining guard. He catches the man in the belly, and he collapses to the ground, writhing for a moment before going still.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung breathes, eyes still a little wide, and Hongjoong nods, letting out a breath.

“Take us to where you think your partner is,” he says. “We can’t stay here for too long after that.”

Wooyoung nods tightly. “This way.”

Wooyoung leads them through more winding, narrow hallways, mostly empty except for a few frightened, fleeing staff members who pay them no mind in their rush to leave the station. Emergency lights continue to blink on and off, and the high, distant drone of the alarm system follows them through the halls, blooming briefly into whining clarity each time they pass an open door.

“Why are you here?” Wooyoung asks after a minute or so of nervous silence as they move through the halls. He addresses Seonghwa, but his eyes flick curiously to Hongjoong’s face, not yet trusting, but with a new hint of respect.

“We’re recruiting,” Seonghwa says. “We need a crew, and I remembered that you and your partner were looking for steadier work a while ago. We’re willing to provide transport and protection, if you’re willing to travel with us and help out with any jobs we pick up along the way.”

Wooyoung hums deep in his throat, noncommittal, but Hongjoong sees a glint of intrigue in his eyes before he turns away from them, back to searching for his partner.

Finally, they arrive at what looks like a guard room, eerily still.

The three of them pause a few feet from the door, cautious.

“If they caught him,” Wooyoung says, his voice small, “this is where he’d be.”

“Let’s take a look, then,” Hongjoong says, squeezing Wooyoung’s arm encouragingly, and then he steps forward into the room and… freezes.

There are bodies everywhere, some of them bloodstained, none of them moving, impossible to tell whether they’re living or dead. An emergency light blinks dully from the corner, periodically suffusing the room in an unholy red glow.

“Good lord,” Seonghwa mutters as he comes up beside Hongjoong. “What the hell happened?”

“San?” says a panicked voice from behind them, and then Hongjoong is jostled to the side as Wooyoung shoves past him, screaming, “SAN!” He runs into the room and slides to his knees beside one of the bodies, a slim young man with dark hair and a bloodied, fox-like face. Wooyoung bundles him carefully into his arms, and Hongjoong’s heart sinks when he sees the lifeless way the young man’s head lolls against Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Seonghwa edges closer to Hongjoong. “Is that—?” 

Hongjoong shakes his head to cut him off, watching as Wooyoung bends his head closer to the young man’s, his shoulders bunched. This isn’t what Hongjoong planned; he knew Wooyoung had a partner, an inside man, but he didn’t think—he didn’t think the partner would be— 

“No, they’re okay,” he hears Wooyoung say quietly, and Hongjoong frowns. “I think we can trust them. They want to hire us.”

Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa and finds Seonghwa already catching his eye, one elegant eyebrow arched.

“Hire us?” says another quiet voice, soft and a bit higher than expected, and oh, _oh_ , the young man is sitting up in Wooyoung’s arms, swiping a sleeve across his face like absolutely nothing is wrong, and Hongjoong thinks he’s beginning to understand. He takes another assessing look at the bodies strewn about the room, a couple of whom are beginning to shift; not dead, then, but safely out of commission.

Ah. The young man did this.

Hongjoong finds himself impressed.

Sharp eyes find Hongjoong’s over Wooyoung’s shoulder, gleaming in the low, crimson glow of the emergency light. 

“Only two of them?” the young man says. Wooyoung glances over his shoulder.

“For now, yeah, I think so.”

That sharp gaze shifts to Wooyoung’s face. “You _think_ so?”

“There might also be a pilot? It’ll be fine, they seem cool.” Wooyoung shakes his sleeve down over the heel of his palm and wipes some more blood from his partner’s face. The partner scrunches his nose, and suddenly he seems much cuter than intimidating. “I hate it when you do this,” Wooyoung mutters. “You scared the shit out of me for a second there.”

“It seemed safest until I was sure who was coming to find me.” The young man grabs Wooyoung’s wrist, putting a halt to his ministrations even though there’s still blood smeared across his cheek, and rises gracefully to his feet. He rolls his neck in a languorous stretch, casual as you like, lithe and dangerous as a jungle cat, as though he’s not covered in blood and surrounded by half a dozen men he knocked out some indeterminate amount of time ago. 

Hongjoong hasn’t wanted someone in his crew this badly since he laid eyes on Seonghwa fifteen years ago.

“What’re your names?” the young man asks Hongjoong and Seonghwa, ruffling Wooyoung’s hair as he steps past him towards the doorway. Not “what is the job,” or “what do you want from us”—but names.

“Hongjoong,” Hongjoong says, then jerks his thumb at Seonghwa. “And this is Seonghwa. And you are…?”

“San.” This close, Hongjoong can see bruises swelling on San’s sharp cheekbone, on his forehead, and a small cut over his eye. Maybe it wasn’t such a clean fight, after all. “Would this be a temporary thing, or are you asking us to sign on for the long-term?”

“Long-term,” Hongjoong says. “I’m putting together a crew. Safety in numbers and all that.”

San hums, lifting a hand to dab at the slowly bleeding cut over his eye. He glances at Wooyoung, coming to stand beside him.

“You like them?” he asks quietly. 

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know Seonghwa-hyung from a while back, and they saved my ass earlier. Plus we don’t really have anywhere else to go right now.”

San fixes Hongjoong with a narrow glance, and then he smiles slightly. He has dimples beneath the bloodstains. Hongjoong almost laughs at the incongruity.

“I suppose we can hear you out, then,” San says, his voice suddenly bright. “But we should probably leave for now. These guys’ll be waking up any second, and if our plan actually worked, then Wooyoung should have about ten thousand units on his person that don’t actually belong to us.”

With a wily grin, Wooyoung flashes a small black card that Hongjoong recognizes as holding this station’s currency.

Seonghwa sighs, but his expression screams satisfaction; they’ve made a good choice.

“Let’s go,” Seonghwa says, already turning away to head back to the lifts. “Our ship is docked on the twenty-eighth level. It’ll take a few minutes to get there, and they’ll be on our tail as soon as they wake up. I’ll call Yunho and let him know we’re on our way.”

“Welcome to the team, boys,” Hongjoong says with a grin, and then they run.


	4. Mingi + Jongho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you once again to my lovely bestie beta - much of the humor in this chapter is hers. she da best. <3
> 
> enjoy!

Elgor is filthy and dangerous and Wooyoung kind of wants to live there.

A heavily muscled shoulder knocks into Wooyoung’s, jostling him into San’s side, and San grabs him around the waist to keep him steady. Wooyoung glances back to see who hit him and makes brief eye contact with a lumbering, six-armed sentient, seemingly from the Outer Rings, based on the tattoos etched into its pebbled skin.

“Don’t irritate the locals,” San mutters into his ear, dragging him away, but Wooyoung gives the sentient a respectful nod before he lets himself be led away, just in case it might hold a grudge.

“Keep up, please,” Seonghwa calls to them over his shoulder, and San squeezes Wooyoung’s waist before letting go to follow the rest of their crew.

They’re walking down a crowded thoroughfare, surrounded on all sides by dusty, rundown buildings plastered from floor to roof with poster adverts for fights, some of which look decades old. Sentients of all kinds crowd the roads, most with heads down and hoods pulled high to avoid pissing off any random surly passersby.

“Are we gonna watch a fight while we’re here?” Wooyoung asks, popping up on his tip-toes in an attempt to see everything.

“Only if we have to.” Hongjoong squints at his handheld. “We’ll take a right up here. Mingi’s at the Pit.”

The Pit turns out to be a hulking, bustling basin arena carved deep into one of Elgor’s reddish stone mountains. The atrium is full of sentients large and small clustered around incongruously gleaming betting kiosks; Wooyoung’s fingers itch to have a go at them.

“No betting,” Hongjoong says, eyes still on his handheld.

“Aw, why not?” Wooyoung asks, shoulders drooping.

“Because this planet is full of scammers and it’s their job to make money off of bright-eyed young gamblers eager to empty their pockets for the promise of violence.”

“Hey now, we know one of those scammers,” Yunho says, but Wooyoung catches him deftly slipping some money back into his pocket as he steps away from one of the betting kiosks.

“Mingi’s basically just IT here, from what I heard,” Seonghwa says, perusing one of the dingy maps hanging on the wall nearby. “He’s hardly a criminal mastermind. He’d feel too guilty about it. Now come on, I said we’d meet him by the cages.”

“They keep the fighters in _cages_?” San asks, sounding appalled.

“They keep the corvaraptors in cages,” Hongjoong clarifies, “and if you ever run into one that _isn’t_ in a cage, then you’ll be glad that they do. Let’s go.”

They manage to slip through the crowds without losing each other (Wooyoung has to hook his fingers into the sleeve of Yunho’s jacket and keep a firm hold on San’s hand behind him in order to not be separated) and end up in a drearily lit hallway lined with low, arched doorways. As soon as they’re mostly free of the crowds, Seonghwa dials a number on his handheld and lifts it to his ear, eyes scanning the stragglers making their way to the cages.

Wooyoung finds himself staring a bit, watching Seonghwa’s expectant face as he waits for his call to be answered. Wooyoung and San have been with the small crew of the _Treasure_ for almost two months now (most of that time taken up by the long, dull, yet somehow incredibly comfortable trek to Elgor), and they’ve received nothing but kindness since they joined. Hongjoong turned out to be a bubbling source of optimism and energy, Yunho is incredibly easy to talk to and has already become one of San’s favorite pillows during their periodic vintage vid marathons ( _and Wooyoung is definitely not jealous of that_ ), and Seonghwa… Seonghwa is exactly how Wooyoung remembers him: calm, handsome, more poised than Wooyoung could ever hope to be, and at times possessed of a rather embarrassing sense of humor. 

Wooyoung could see himself sticking with this crew for a very long time, and there is a part of him—a lonely part, a part that has been with him since he lost his grandmother and was left all alone, years and years ago—that is slightly terrified of that.

Automatically, Wooyoung reaches for San’s hand, and is startled to find that San is no longer standing beside him. Alarmed, Wooyoung looks around, but he sees no trace of his partner.

“Mingi!” Wooyoung’s panic is briefly interrupted by Seonghwa’s jubilant voice; it looks like his call finally went through. “We’re by the cages. Where are you?”

Anxiety starts clawing its way up Wooyoung’s throat as he keeps scanning the crowds for San, but just as he opens his mouth to call for him, slim fingers link with his and suddenly San is there beside him, pressing close to his side.

“Sorry,” San says quietly, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand. “I’m here.”

“Where did you go?” Wooyoung asks, willing his heart to stop racing. He knows there’s something he needs to deal with there ( _he can’t lose San, he can’t_ ), but for now he’s just glad that San is back.

“Don’t worry about it,” San says with a grin, and Wooyoung is too relieved to press him any further.

“Do you see me?” Seonghwa is saying into his handheld, waving his arm in the air now, eyes fixed on a spot further down the hallway, and then he laughs, and it’s one of the warmest sounds Wooyoung has heard from him yet; Wooyoung wonders just who this Mingi is, who can make Seonghwa laugh that way. “I know I look stupid,” Seonghwa says, still grinning, “get over here.”

“I see him!” Hongjoong crows, and then he’s gone, dashing through a break in the crowd and throwing himself at a tall, messy-haired young man, who bursts out laughing as he catches Hongjoong in a giant hug, lifting their captain straight off the ground and spinning him in a full circle.

“Have you gotten taller?” Hongjoong asks once he’s untangled himself from the young man’s embrace and led him back over to their group.

The man— _Mingi_ , Wooyoung tells himself, _there’s no way this isn’t their Mingi_ —beams, already reaching out to reel Seonghwa into a rib-cracking hug. 

“Probably,” Mingi says, patting Seonghwa’s back perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but Seonghwa just laughs and returns the embrace. “They feed me really well here, and I haven’t seen you guys in years. I’m a growing boy.”

“Well, stop it,” Yunho says, stepping in for his own turn at a hug. “Soon enough you won’t fit into the ship.”

Wooyoung watches their reunion with a fond smile, but there’s a strange hollowness in his chest, as well, as he realizes how little he actually knows this crew. They must have so much history together, to build this much affection, and he and San have barely— 

“Are you Seonghwa’s thieves?” Mingi steps right up to them, still grinning.

“Um.” Wooyoung blinks up at him, befuddled. “Yes?”

“Welcome to the crew!” Mingi says, and then he wraps his arms around both Wooyoung and San, squashing them together into a too-tight hug that has Wooyoung spluttering and San giggling into Mingi’s chest.

Some of the hollowness fades away.

*

It turns out there’s one more fight that Mingi wants to watch before they leave, so he leads them all into the Pit’s main arena, where they line up along one of the top walls, away from the louder parts of the crowd but still with a decent view of the sandy fighting ring below.

“This guy is great, he’s one of the best fighters on Elgor,” Mingi says excitedly, nearly vibrating in anticipation. “They call him the Rock.”

“Like from those old Terran vids, with all the fake fighting?” Yunho asks.

“Yeah, like that!” says Mingi. “Apparently he was a fan when he was younger and the name just stuck.”

The first competitor is announced—a lean-muscled Callistan with dark skin and long limbs, easily over eight feet tall, clad in the traditional fur-and-leather garb of his icy home planet—and the crowd boos; clearly, this fighter is not the favorite. The Callistan just lifts his arms, thriving on the crowd’s animosity, and stalks the edge of the arena, jeering right back at some of the louder audience members, to their apparent delight.

After a few moments of this, the crowd hushes in order to hear the announcement of the second competitor: 

“Representing the Trade Guild,” says the announcer’s amplified voice, with pure relish, “the four-time champion and member of the fan-selected Elgor Elite… the Rock!” 

The crowd erupts into cheers, stomping and whistling and hollering in every language Wooyoung could imagine, and a young Terran man steps into the arena. Wooyoung is shocked by how small he looks compared to the Callistan; he can’t be any taller than Hongjoong, but his build is much sturdier, all broad shoulders and solid thighs.

“He’s shorter than I expected,” San mutters from beside Wooyoung, eyes narrowed, but before Wooyoung can ask him why that seems to matter so much, the fight begins.

It’s clear from the get-go, even to an informally fighter like Wooyoung, that the Rock is the stronger warrior in this battle. He bides his time, dodging where others might waste energy on a block, slipping just out of reach of the Callistan’s long limbs, waiting for an opportunity to attack. When that opportunity finally comes, the blow lands like a viper strike, the loud crack of flesh-on-flesh audible even from their spot at the top of the arena. Wooyoung winces as the Callistan drops, clutching his stomach, and the Rock descends on him, pinning him down and aiming two more swift punches at his head, one of which connects with his jaw, the other the side of his head. It’s violent, and looks intensely painful, but as soon as the Callistan stops moving, the Rock stops his assault and stands, already lifting his arms in victory as the crowd starts to go wild and medics rush onto the field.

Wooyoung expects Mingi’s cheers, since he clearly knows the fighter, but he’s surprised by San thrusting his arms into the air and screaming a deafening, “YES!”

Wooyoung gawks at him. “Why are you—?”

“We just won _so much money_ , don’t tell the captain,” San says, still grinning and clapping like a maniac, shining eyes fixed on the Rock far below.

Wooyoung sighs, rolling his eyes, and looks back down into the ring. The Rock is taking his bows, waving at the spectators all screaming his name, and if Wooyoung isn’t mistaken, at one point the Rock flashes a salute all the way up at them, and Mingi returns it with a grin.

_I wonder what the story is there_ , Wooyoung thinks, but then San squeezes his shoulder and whispers, “Cover for me,” as he slips away to collect their winnings, and Wooyoung is left hoping that Hongjoong and Seonghwa are distracted enough by Mingi to miss the brief absence of one of their thieves.

*

They don’t linger long after the fight, and Mingi claims he doesn’t have much to pack, anyway, so it doesn’t take long before they all head back to the _Treasure_ together (San with a bit of an extra bounce in his step and sixteen hundred new units secretly stuffed in his pocket). 

“I’m gonna get some food before we take off,” Yunho says, already heading for the galley. “Do you want anything?”

“Mm, yes, food sounds good,” San says, linking his arm with Yunho’s. “C’mon, Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung sighs fondly and follows them down the hall to the galley, but just before they get to the open door, San pauses, brow furrowed, dragging Yunho to a halt.

Yunho blinks at him, confused. “San, what—”

“Someone’s here.”

They all go quiet, and Wooyoung hears the soft sound of humming from within the galley. San gently pulls away from Yunho, glances at Wooyoung, and then pads silently into the galley, holding a hand out behind him to keep Yunho and Wooyoung back.

Wooyoung, ever contrary and unwilling to let San face danger on his own, follows him closely, and stumbles into San’s back when he stops dead in the doorway.

“... The Rock?” San says.

“What?” Wooyoung says, and peers over San’s shoulder. 

Sure enough, standing in the middle of their galley, placing a pot on the lit stove, is the Rock, staring at them with wide eyes. He’s wearing a jacket that’s too large for him and his hair is still sweaty from his earlier fight and he looks much younger than Wooyoung expected.

“Um,” the Rock says, glancing briefly away, looking rather guilty. “Hi?”

“Hi,” Wooyoung responds automatically. “Ah… what’re you doing here?”

“Did… did Mingi not tell you?” 

“Tell us what?” San asks.

The Rock sighs and rubs a hand over his face, muttering something, and then Yunho hollers over his shoulder, “MINGI!”

After a few awkward seconds, Mingi joins them in the galley, his face brightening when he sees the Rock.

“Jongho!” he says, stepping past his crew to sweep the Rock into a quick, tight hug. “You found it!”

“Well, yeah, it was the only one called _Treasure_ ,” says the Rock (or Jongho, Wooyoung supposes), disentangling himself from Mingi’s long limbs. His cheeks are flushed in either pleasure or embarrassment, and Wooyoung kind of wants to pat his head. “Did you seriously not tell them I was coming with you?”

“Oh.” Mingi blinks, all innocence. “I must’ve forgotten, sorry.” He turns to Yunho, San, and Wooyoung, beaming. “Guys, this is my friend Jongho—is it cool if he travels with us for a while?”

“I mean, I don’t have a problem with it, but you should probably clear it with the captain,” Yunho says. He holds a hand out, and Jongho shakes it with a nervous smile. “Nice to meet you, Jongho. I’m Yunho, and this is San and Wooyoung.”

“Can I fight you?” San says as he shakes Jongho’s hand.

Jongho stares at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, not right now,” San says. “Just… sometime. You’re so good, I want to see how I compare.”

“Uh.” Jongho flicks a wary glance at Mingi, who shrugs at him. “Sure?”

“I’m sorry he’s weird,” Wooyoung says, shaking Jongho’s hand; unsurprisingly, the kid has quite a grip. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. the Rock, congrats on your victory.”

“My name’s actually not the Rock, it’s Jong—”

“CAPTAIN, WE HAVE A STOWAWAY!” San yells down the hallway, and Jongho goes rather pale.

“Don’t worry,” Mingi says, clapping a hang on Jongho’s shoulder. “He’ll love you. Now where were you on those noodles?”


	5. Yeosang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final member, final chapter!
> 
> enjoy, all~!

Mingi doesn’t like the heavy way Seonghwa leans against his shoulder, nor the heady scent of blood as it seeps from the wound in Seonghwa’s side, staining Mingi’s jacket. Mingi’s ears are still ringing from the sound of gunfire and people screaming in the halls of the _Treasure_ , but their attackers have cleared off by now, and it’s just the seven of them left to pick up the pieces. All of them are bleeding from somewhere, and Mingi is almost positive San is hiding a concussion and possibly something worse, but the most pressing injury currently is Seonghwa’s, who took a gut-shot stepping in front of San when their Vaolan attackers had the young thief cornered.

“Where’s Sani?” Seonghwa’s words slur together, making Mingi’s throat clench.

“He’s here, hyung,” Wooyoung says, his own voice choked with barely held back tears. He has blood smeared down his face from a cut along his hairline, but otherwise he seems to be in one piece. “He’s safe. You got there in time.”

Seonghwa weakly tries to lift his head; Mingi curls his arms around him more tightly, trying to keep him still. “‘s he hurt?”

“I’m fine, hyung,” San says, taking Seonghwa’s hand in a white-knuckled grip, but Mingi can tell that San is _not_ fine; his hands are trembling and his lip is split and his eyes are red-rimmed and bruised, and he’s holding his right arm strangely, too close to his chest, too stiff to not be injured.

“The Vaolans?” Seonghwa says.

“They ran,” Yunho says from behind Wooyoung, his voice still shaky. “Jongho shot some holes in their hull, and the captain shot some holes in _their_ captain, so they buggered off.”

Hongjoong takes that moment to reappear from the med-bay, hands full of gauze, and he presses it hard against the wound in Seonghwa’s side, the pressure making Seonghwa gasp in pain and Mingi stagger a bit.

“We need to get him to a medstation,” Hongjoong says sharply. Mingi can see his hands shaking, but he doesn’t betray any panic in his voice, all captain, through and through. “What’s the nearest system?”

“We’re a few clicks from Andromeda,” Yunho says after a quick glance at his handheld. 

Wooyoung gasps, eyes widening in realization. “I have a friend who works on a medstation there,” he says. “I’ll get the coordinates, we should head that way.”

“Get on it,” Hongjoong says, but his eyes never leave Seonghwa, whose eyes have closed, face tight with pain. “You have him?” he asks quietly, his voice softer, no longer a command, and Mingi knows he’s addressing him.

“I have him, captain,” Mingi says, holding Seonghwa tighter. “He’ll be fine,” he adds, and prays that will make it true.

*

It takes Yunho less than an hour of creative flying and two timely light-jumps to get to the medstation where Wooyoung’s friend supposedly works. They dock without getting clearance, paperwork be damned ( _because Seonghwa is now unconscious and eerily pale and without him there’s no one to make Hongjoong follow protocol_ ), and all of them bolt from the _Treasure_ to the airlock door as soon as the ship settles, Jongho now carrying Seonghwa securely on his back.

The airlock door of the medstation slides open to reveal a grizzled, gray-haired Terran woman, tight-lipped and glaring. She crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Kamila!” Wooyoung shoves his way to the front of the group, eyes wide and pleading. “Is Yeosang still stationed here?”

Kamila’s eyes narrow even further, if that were possible. She lets her gaze travel over all of them, taking in Seonghwa’s bloodied form slumped over Jongho’s back, Hongjoong’s ashen face, San trembling beneath Yunho’s arm.

“He is,” Kamila says, finally focusing on Wooyoung. “What do you need? He’s busy.”

“Please, my friend is very hurt, he needs—”

“Yeosang is busy,” Kamila repeats, crossing her arms, “as are all of my medics. You can’t just show up and expect immediate treatment, that’s not—”

“He’ll die,” Hongjoong snaps, and Mingi doesn’t know if he’s ever heard Hongjoong this livid. “If you don’t help him now, he’ll bleed out. This is a medstation, how can you—?” 

A low, calm voice suddenly speaks up from behind the old woman:

“I’ll take a look at him.”

Wooyoung perks up immediately, hope sparking in his eyes, and Mingi cranes his head to see a handsome young man step up from behind the old woman, serene and graceful.

“Yeosang!” Wooyoung crows, and the young man’s mouth quirks into an almost-smile. 

“Bring your friend inside,” says the young man, already turning away. “I have room in my OR.”

“Hold on a second.” Kamila slams a hand against the side of the airlock, blocking their entrance with her broad-shouldered body. “How did your friend get hurt in the first place?”

“Vaolans,” Hongjoong says, glaring daggers at the woman. “We were ambushed. One of our crew members was trapped, and Seonghwa fought to save him.” 

Mingi glances at San just in time to see him curl into himself, shoulders hunched guiltily. Yunho hugs him more tightly to his side.

“Were you followed here?” Kamila demands.

“No.” That’s Jongho, voice firm. “They fled before we came. They don’t know where we are, and they won’t come looking for trouble any time soon.”

Kamila scowls at him, and Jongho meets her glare for glare, hefting Seonghwa more securely onto his back. After a terribly long moment of silence, in which Mingi can’t help but think _Seonghwa is still bleeding, Seonghwa is still bleeding_ , over and over again, Kamila finally steps aside, letting them through to follow Yeosang.

Jongho goes first, Seonghwa firmly on his back, and the others trail behind, entering the great white halls of the medstation.

They end up in a pristine, high-ceilinged operating room with multiple padded tables, each separated by clear, floor-to-ceiling glass. Only the far bed is occupied, by a sheet-covered lump too large and scaly to be a Terran.

“Put him there,” Yeosang says, gesturing towards the closest table, and Jongho carefully settles Seonghwa onto the table with help from Hongjoong and Yunho.

“How long has he been out?” Yeosang asks, already preparing a wheeled cart covered with surgical instruments.

“About fifteen minutes now,” Hongjoong says, stepping back to let Yeosang get started, but not without first running a gentle hand over Seonghwa’s hair.

Yeosang lifts Seonghwa’s right wrist, pressing his fingers to the pulse point, and remains motionless for a few seconds, brow slightly furrowed.

“His pulse is very weak,” he says. “He’ll need a transfusion. What’s his blood type?”

“O,” Hongjoong answers immediately. 

Yeosang scans the lot of them, eyes strangely calm. “Are any of you able to give him a transfusion?”

“I can.” Jongho has already removed his bloodstained jacket and is rolling up his sleeves, taking a seat in a nearby chair. 

Yeosang nods and busies himself with setting up the transfusion. While he’s inserting the needle into Jongho’s arm, his eyes land briefly on San, huddled in the corner at Wooyoung’s side. Mingi swears he sees something flash in Yeosang’s eyes, and then Yeosang says to San, simply, “I can set your arm after I get your friend stabilized. You must be in some pain, and you’ll become feverish soon.”

Wooyoung blinks, startled, and glances at San, whose cheeks have gone flushed.

“It’s really not a big deal,” San says, clutching his stiff right arm more closely to his chest. “I’m fine. I don’t even think it’s broken.”

“It’s dislocated, and you have at least one hairline fracture.” Yeosang finishes setting up the transfusion and bends over Seonghwa’s side, deftly slicing through Seonghwa’s shirt and jacket to gain access to the wound. “It’ll need to be reset to heal properly.”

“How could you possibly know that without examining him?” Yunho asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Yeosang pauses for the briefest second, then reaches for the sutures and forceps.

“I’ve been doing this for a very long time,” he says quietly, and then he carefully inserts the forceps into Seonghwa’s wound, removes what looks like an ancient metal bullet, sets that aside into a gleaming steel dish, and starts sewing.

Mingi has to look away. He’s never been good with blood, really, and he’s _definitely_ never been good with the idea of sewing someone’s skin back together again, even when that someone is Seonghwa, whom he loves, and it’s to save his life. Instead, he watches Yeosang’s face as he sews up the wound in Seonghwa’s side. The medic is unfairly attractive, really, all pale skin and delicate features, but he can’t be any older than Yunho, so Mingi rather doubts he’s been doing this for “a very long time.” He looks barely old enough to have graduated from a medical academy.

It’s only because he’s watching Yeosang’s face so closely that Mingi notices the subtle way Yeosang’s pupils seem to shift as he works, decreasing briefly in size before returning to normal, almost like the aperture of a camera as it zooms.

Mingi is squinting, trying to get a better view of Yeosang’s eyes, when the steady beeping that’s permeated the room ever since Yeosang hooked Seonghwa up to a heart monitor suddenly goes flat.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong is at Seonghwa’s side immediately, hands clutching at Seonghwa’s arm. He looks desperately to Yeosang. “Oh, god, can you—?”

“Move,” Yeosang says, shoving Hongjoong back, his voice sharper than it was mere moments before. “Get that out now,” he snaps at Jongho, who fumbles at the needle in his arm for a moment before tugging it out with a wince, and then Yeosang rips open Seonghwa’s shirt and jacket, places his bare hands over Seonghwa’s chest, and, after a quick glance to make sure Yunho has succeeded in dragging Hongjoong back from the table, whispers, “Clear.”

And then he gives Seonghwa’s heart a shock with his bare hands.

The monitor gives a weak beep, followed by another, and then another, and Yeosang watches it carefully for a few moments, hands still positioned over Seonghwa’s chest, before he finally pulls away, letting out a breath.

“He needs blood badly,” Yeosang says, already moving back over to Jongho. “My apologies. May I?” Wordless, Jongho nods, but he eyes Yeosang with a new wariness as the medic resets the needle with steady and careful hands.

“What—what just happened?” Yunho is the one who finally asks, once Yeosang goes back to sewing up Seonghwa’s wound. Mingi can tell that his motions are much smoother now, his hands machine fast, almost too precise, and _oh my god of course_ — 

“You’re modded,” Mingi says, and Yeosang pauses ever so briefly, just long enough for Mingi to know that he’s right.

“What, really?” Wooyoung asks, looking between Mingi and Yeosang. “You never told me that.”

“You are correct.” Yeosang finishes the sutures in no time—to be expected, for a sentient who is part machine—and carefully starts cleaning the skin around the wound, motions methodical and, now that Mingi knows what to watch for, just this side of inhuman. “But I would appreciate it if you would refrain from saying that too loudly here.”

“Why?” Yunho asks.

“Modified sentients are illegal in this system.” The answer, surprisingly, comes from Hongjoong, who has made his way back to Seonghwa’s side, holding Seonghwa’s right hand with both of his. He glances up at Yeosang, his eyes overbright. “You could be arrested just for living here.”

Yeosang says nothing. He hooks Seonghwa up to another IV, this one some sort of saline solution, from the looks of it.

“Your friend will stabilize quickly now,” Yeosang says. “The transfusion will help, and this solution is of my own creation; it should get him close to normal in a few hours.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says, his voice cracking just barely. It breaks Mingi’s heart.

“You are welcome.” Yeosang turns to face San. “Now, since you already know what I am, then you should also know that I do not need an antiquated machine to see your internal injuries, but we can order an X-ray, if you like. Or I could just set your arm now. Which do you choose?”

San pauses for only a moment before he glances at Wooyoung, gets a nod of encouragement, and then sighs and steps forward to be fixed up.

*

Yeosang is true to his word, and Seonghwa is much improved by the next day (as are the rest of them, thanks to Yeosang’s efficient care), so they prepare to leave as soon as Hongjoong (muttering all the while) finishes filling out the delinquent docking paperwork that none of them bothered to complete the day before.

It’s not until they’re just about to undock when a series of clipped knocks echoes on the cabin door, and Mingi slides it open to reveal Yeosang, a small travel bag hanging over one shoulder.

“Hello,” he says with a small smile. “My employers watched the security footage from my OR yesterday and learned that I am a modified sentient. I was asked to leave. Is there room on your ship?”

This leads to the whole crew standing in the bridge, staring at the cyborg who saved their first mate’s life.

“You got _fired_?” Wooyoung snaps.

“I did what I needed to do,” Yeosang says, his voice unwavering, “and they did what they needed to do. The law is the law, unfortunately. I could not keep working there now that they know what I am. It is actually rather kind of them, to just let me go without reporting me. I am grateful.”

“You’re _grateful_ to those speciesist motherfu—?”

Hongjoong claps a hand over Wooyoung’s mouth, smiling at Yeosang. “We’ll gladly take you wherever you need to go,” he says. “We owe you a great debt for keeping our Seonghwa alive.”

Yeosang blinks and turns his gaze to Seonghwa, seated in the co-pilot’s chair, still looking a bit peaky but quite definitely alive. “It was worth it to save his life.”

Seonghwa smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “Please, make yourself at home. You can stay for as long as you like.”

Yeosang inclines his head with a smile. 

They leave the medstation soon after that, everyone slowly trickling back to their usual duties. Mingi watches with a grin as Wooyoung tackles Yeosang in an enthusiastic hug, dragging him away to his temporary quarters while excitedly describing all the places their crew plans to go. Mingi stays on the bridge, taking a seat near the navigation console, and watches as Hongjoong goes to stand beside Seonghwa, looping an arm comfortably around his neck. Mingi looks away politely when Hongjoong leans down to press a kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead ( _his hyungs’ business is their own, after all_ ), but looking away doesn’t stop him from eavesdropping.

“This is nice, actually,” Hongjoong says quietly. 

“What, me almost dying?” Seonghwa quips.

Mingi hears the gentle smack of a palm against flesh, and Seonghwa lets out a surprised laugh.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hongjoong grumbles. “No, I mean having Yeosang here for a while. We could really use a medic, you know; we get into enough scrapes that he could turn out to be quite useful.”

“Are you thinking about offering him a permanent position?”

Hongjoong hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. We’ll have to see how he meshes with everyone else, of course, but for now it feels… good. Complete.”

 _Complete_ , Mingi thinks, absently fiddling with the navigation screen to see where Yunho has them headed. He considers their crew: Hongjoong and Seonghwa, their forever leaders, competent and supportive and just a bit embarrassing; Yunho, the best pilot Mingi has ever seen, witty and sarcastic and somehow still unendingly kind; Wooyoung and San, fearless and full of energy and sometimes way, _way_ too sharp; Jongho, strong and quiet and (Mingi knows) secretly already ridiculously soft for their entire crew; and now Yeosang, a quiet, handsome mystery, but Wooyoung seems to trust him, and he’s already saved Seonghwa’s life, so he’s probably all right.

 _And me_ , Mingi adds a bit ruefully. He knows his own value (and Yunho is always eager enough to compliment him, which makes Mingi feel both flattered and flustered), and when he adds all of them together, then yes, he thinks, this crew feels right.

Maybe now, with the whole crew here and only stars ahead of them, they are complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and then they steal the Declaration of Independence.
> 
> i'm anticipating that i'll continue writing in this universe a bit, now that the characters are all set. it's way too much fun.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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